


Inquisitive

by sans_patronymic



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 23:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_patronymic/pseuds/sans_patronymic
Summary: “Dad, what’d you do before you met Mom?”--Trunks asks questions his parents aren't quite ready to answer.





	Inquisitive

“Dad, what’d you do before you met Mom?”

Vegeta grimaced. It didn’t matter that he got up at dawn, eleven in the morning was entirely too early for questions like this. Then again, it was entirely too early to be eating lunch, but here he was, sitting at the kitchen table, watching his son drag a brontosaurus-shaped chicken nugget through a lake of ketchup. Sacrifices. Trunks looked at him, patiently awaiting his answer while beheading the dino with one fell chomp.

“I was in space.”

“Doing what? Space is boring; you didn’t just sit around doing nothing, did you?”

“Not exactly.”

“So what’d you do?”

It had been a while since Vegeta had delved into those memories. If he let himself, he could still smell the blood, feel the sensation of snapping someone’s bones. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Technically, he supposed, it was.

“I took things from people,” he answered, “and sold them to other people.”

True enough.

“So, you were kinda like a pirate?”

“Sort of.”

Trunks considered this information. Pirates were cool, but morally ambiguous. They stole stuff, blew up ships, and made people walk the plank. It was tough to know a good pirate from a bad one, especially without eye patches.

“Did you kill people?”

Vegeta nodded, shoveling mac and cheese into his mouth as if his son had asked a much more innocuous question.

“Like, a lotta people?”

A nod.

“Like, a _lotta_ lotta people?”

“Mhm.”

“Whoa.” For a minute, Trunks watched his father, the deadly space pirate, munch away on his quest to obliterate three pounds of cheese and pasta. “Why’d you stop?”

“Stop what?”

“Being a pirate.”

Vegeta paused to consider this. Trunks didn’t know it, but the expression on his father’s face was that of a man whose brain was short-circuiting. Eventually, Vegeta dug his fork back into the mac and cheese.

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Mom says there are no stupid questions.”

“Then go talk to her.”

Trunk cheerfully pushed himself off his chair and went to do just that. The best thing about this kid, Vegeta decided, and there were many things to choose from, was that he had no idea when he was being insulted. That was good. It would be harder for an opponent to push his buttons, help him keep a clear head.

Approximately three point eight minutes after Trunks’s departure, Bulma stepped into the kitchen, looking somewhere between shocked and furious.

“Hey, so,” she started, “our son just told me that you’re a fearsome space pirate who has killed, quote, ‘a lotta, lotta people’...”

“Surprise.”

“I thought we agreed we were going to talk to him about that stuff together—when he’s older.”

“He asked a question and I answered it. I didn’t tell him anything specific.”

“Yeah, no. This nonchalant shit is not going to fly. What, exactly, did you tell him. Like word for word.”

Vegeta sighed and sat back in his chair.

“He asked what I did before I met you. I said I flew through space, taking things from some people to sell to other people. That’s it.”

“And at what point during that one sentence explanation did the whole murder thing factor in?”

“He asked if I ever killed and I said I had.”

Bulma sank into the chair next to him. She tossed up her hands and let them fall into her lap with a despairing thump. Her expression was now decidedly livid.

“Great. Awesome. You know he’s at that stage where he loves to repeat everything he hears. What’s going to happen when he tells his whole class that you killed people for a living?”

“Maybe I won’t have to go to Parents’ Night anymore.”

“Can you please be serious for ten seconds?”

“I won’t lie to him.”

“There’s a big difference between lying and telling him something before he’s old enough to deal with it,” Bulma said.

“I dealt with a lot worse by the time I was five.”

“Yeah, and you turned out real fucking great, didn’t you?”

Vegeta let her comment hang in the air, unchallenged. It was a trite, ugly thing and she deserved to have to face it. The realization settled across her features as a sad smile.

“I’m sorry,” Bulma relented, voice soft, “Sounds like you explained it well enough. I guess I just worry about him.”

Worry was an understatement. Since Trunks started school, Bulma had turned into a one woman anxiety machine. He understood it, in part. Kindergarten was a rude awakening to just how different their son was. Too strong, too smart, too full of stories about aliens and super powers. He rattled people. Still, Vegeta had yet to see any signs that Trunks was bothered by his uniqueness. Another strength.

“Maybe you worry too much.”

“Maybe.”

“Did you just agree with me?” Vegeta asked with a smirk.

Bulma smiled back. “Don’t push your luck.”

Trunks stampeded back into the kitchen, the force of a thousand elephants crammed into his small body. He was brandishing the television remote. On his head, one of Bulma’s mother’s hats—a black velvet affair—sunk low over his eyes. He sprung into the air, crashing against Bulma’s lap with a giggle.

“Hello! And what are you?” Bulma asked.

“I’m a pirate, like Dad—Argh! Watch out, or I’ll gut you!”

He swung the remote in her face. Bulma caught it, deflecting it downward with a frown.

“Hey now, mister, we don’t gut people.”

“Too messy,” Vegeta agreed.

Bulma shot him a look. “We don’t kill people. It’s wrong.”

“What about bad guys?” Trunks asked, “You can kill bad guys.”

“Only if there’s no other option. Even then, it’s better to be merciful.”

Trunks gave a skeptical frown, either at the concept of mercy or because he didn't know the word. “How come?”

“Well, people change. Your dad used to be a pretty bad guy when he first came here, but your Uncle Krillin spared his life and now... I think he’s pretty good, don’t you?”

So much for not telling him details before he was older.

“Uncle Krillin almost killed you?”

“He had _a lot_ of help.”

“How was he gonna do it?”

“Trunks—“

“Cut my head off with a samurai sword.”

“Whoa.”

“Vegeta!”

Vegeta shrugged. “That’s the truth.”

“Well... I’m glad he didn’t,” Trunks declared after giving it some thought.

“Thank you, son.”

The smile on Vegeta’s face was pure victory. Bulma didn’t have time to roll her eyes at him. Her phone chirped, signaling the end of their lazy, unstructured morning and the start of Bulma’s “relaxed” weekend schedule.

“Come on, kiddo. If we want to make it to the zoo before your swimming lessons, we gotta get going.” She turned to her husband. “Are you coming?”

“No.”

“You sure? There’s a new baby giraffe…”

Bulma teased out the words ‘baby giraffe’ like someone dangling a carrot before a carthorse. Unfortunately for her, the appeal of a knobby-kneed newborn ungulate did not win out over the thought of Saturday crowds and roving packs of screaming brats. Maybe she had the energy for that, but he sure didn’t.

“I was up with him at five—I’m off duty til bath time,” Vegeta said, polishing off the last of the mac and cheese.

“Suit yourself, nerd. Trunks, come on, get your shoes on and we’ll go.”

While Trunks was busy performing the all-important Sneaker Dance, his parents shared a kiss. Then another one, a longer one, with a whispered promise of more to come. As Bulma took her son’s hand and they started towards the door, a pang of fondness hit Vegeta’s chest, strong enough to make him nearly change his mind about not joining them.

“Ready to see the baby giraffe, kiddo?”

“Yeah!” Trunks shouted, forty-three pounds of unbridled enthusiasm. Then, with that familiar tone of a child philosopher, he asked, “Mom? Where do babies come from?”

Bulma turned back to the kitchen for reinforcements, but Vegeta was already gone. She gave her son an uncomfortable smile. It was way too early for this.


End file.
